Lockhart’s inner mood wasn’t nearly as smug as his outward demeanor suggested.
In truth, he had to admit—he was jealous!
Watching the two young wizards cast magic so fluidly made him ache for the same ability; he looked down at the wand in his hand, which felt no different than a pair of chopsticks.
Seeing the massive boost in power Harry and Draco had achieved through the original’s “fairy-tale romance” theory left him feeling a bitter, burning envy.
He craved magic.
He craved raw power.
Taking a deep breath, he scanned the professors’ faces.
Seeing Draco sent flying for the second time, Professor McGonagall’s face was etched with worry.
Lockhart flashed a brilliant smile and strode forward, ready to cut the duel short.
Enough.
It was already perfect.
But at that moment, Malfoy flicked his wand, and the giant python slithered toward Harry, its tongue flicking, clearly enraged by the disarming spell.
Facing such a terrifying sight, Harry didn’t dodge.
He stood his ground, staring fixedly at the snake, his mouth moving in a series of hisses.
Hiss, hiss, hiss.
Every professor in the room turned pale.
Lockhart’s expression hardened.
Damn it.
An unexpected disaster.
Harry Potter really knew how to steal the spotlight!
This was his stage!
He was the protagonist!
This was the single most important moment to cement his status as a Master of Magic!
He lunged forward, not even bothering to draw his wand, and threw an arm around Harry’s shoulder to break his gaze from the serpent.
He caught Professor Snape’s eye—he could see Snape sneering, waiting for Harry to humiliate himself, but the man’s hand was clenched tightly around his wand, ready for the worst.
“Perfect!” Lockhart bellowed with a hearty laugh, feigning awe.
“An absolutely perfect duel!” He kept a firm grip on Harry, positioning his own tall frame as a shield between the boy and the snake.
Was he afraid?
Of course.
But he trusted that Snape would handle the snake.
If not, Dumbledore would intervene.
He just needed to maintain the image of a fearless Master of Magic.
“I’m sure you all—” Before he could finish, a student in the stands shrieked, “Was that Parseltongue?” Many others, unsure before, began to call out.
“I heard Harry Potter talking to that snake!” “Yes, I heard it too!” “My god, how incredible—I heard only the most evil wizards can speak Parseltongue!” The crowd was descending into chaos.
Lockhart shouted for order, signaling the prefects to quiet the students.
He risked a glance over his shoulder; the python was gone, and he let out a sigh of relief, turning back to the room with smooth confidence.
“In fact, Parseltongue is not exclusive to Dark wizards.
If any of you were to join me on an expedition to the Amazon, you would find that many tribes there have snake-speakers.” “Strictly speaking, snake-talking is a high-level discipline of Defense Against the Dark Arts.” He gestured toward the Headmaster.
“The most representative example would be our great Professor Dumbledore—not only is he proficient in snake-talk, but he also speaks Mer-language, Goblin-tongue…” Dumbledore watched with a twinkle of amusement as Lockhart blurred the line between innate Parseltongue abilities and learned linguistic skills.
Professor McGonagall stepped in, recognizing that Lockhart was de-escalating the crisis but unwilling to let students walk away with misinformation.
“That is enough, children!” She waved her hand, and the hall lights brightened.
“The lesson is over.
Please leave in an orderly fashion.” She looked at them with profound weight.
“Even if some of you cannot grasp the ‘fairy-tale romance’ principle, the seven points Professor Lockhart summarized are highly insightful.
I hope you will reflect on them.” The hall was buzzing with confusion, the students gossiping about Harry as they filed out.
Fortunately, many still held onto the excitement of their own potential, focusing on the “essence of magic” Lockhart had preached.
On stage, under the watchful gaze of the professors—especially Dumbledore’s deep, unreadable eyes—Harry felt uneasy.
“Ha-rryyy… Pot-ter!” Professor Snape strode forward, looming over Harry with malicious intent.
“Look at the surprises our Savior brings us.” Harry felt his head spinning.
He didn’t need to look up to know exactly what kind of hateful, mocking expression Snape was wearing.
“Indeed, it is truly marvelous.” A warm, hearty laugh cut through the tension.
A comforting arm was draped over Harry’s shoulders.
He looked up to see Professor Lockhart.
Lockhart squeezed his shoulder, as if providing him with the strength to face anything.
“Parseltongue, what an enviable talent!” Lockhart arched an eyebrow at Snape.
“Of course, both you and I grew up in the Muggle world, so you’ve surely heard of Muggle genetics—atavism is a perfectly normal occurrence.” Snape sneered, “Let us hope that is all it is.” Lockhart didn’t bother to argue, instead turning to Draco Malfoy, who was staring at Harry in shock.
“Your performance was truly outstanding; I must reward you both.
Of course, I must also provide some psychological guidance regarding how deeply you both immersed yourselves in the act.” He turned to the other professors, specifically Dumbledore.
“May I take the boys with me?” Thank goodness!
Harry felt a surge of relief.
Lockhart had stepped in to save him again at the perfect moment.
He didn’t want to stay here for another second; the way people were looking at him made his skin crawl.
He felt a sudden pang of guilt for thinking Lockhart was a “bad” professor earlier—clearly, the man wasn’t just a powerful wizard; he was a good man.
Soon, the “good man” received Dumbledore’s permission and led Harry and Draco off to his office.
These two children were excellent investments.
Putting aside Harry Potter—the protagonist of the original story—take Draco Malfoy: the power of the pure-blood family he represented was immense.
And what better way to gain the closeness and respect of Lucius Malfoy than to be his son’s mentor?
Perfect.
Besides, for the rest of the year, who could be better assistants for his demonstrations than these two?
Whenever he needed a scene involving magic, he could just trot these two out and let them do the work.
With a little polishing, these two high-potential children would become formidable.
By the time they were done, even if no one had ever seen him cast a spell, no one would ever dare question the magical mastery of the man who had taught such brilliant students.
It was absolutely perfect.
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